


Wait A Second

by bethonie (Formula_Tea)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: AU, M/M, POV Second Person, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 14:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3123203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Formula_Tea/pseuds/bethonie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know the AU where people have the first words their soul mate has ever said to them written on their bodies?<br/>Imagine having nothing."</p><p>http://bethoniewaring.tumblr.com/post/107229192128/you-know-the-au-where-people-have-the-first-words</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wait A Second

 

 

“What can I get you, sir?”

“I… um… I’m really sorry, but I think you have something stuck in your teeth.”

You can see the exact moment the man behind the till at Starbucks realises what has just been said. Moments later, the person in front of you in the queue is bouncing up and down. Yet another couple have met their soul mate.

Long ago, you would be upset that you, the boring bastard that you are, are never going to experience this moment. Long ago, you would have stormed out of the coffee shop and into the nearest off-licence to buy a four pack of cans and start drinking no matter what the time of day.

Now you’re just bored.

“Excuse me?” you call. The couple can start sharing their life’s goals with each other once he’s gotten his drink. Until then…

 

It’s cold outside and you immediately regret the decision to get the coffee to go but, even though you _have_ come to terms with the fact you don’t have a soul mate, no first words from your true love etched into your skin, you don’t have to sit and let others rub it in your face.

Winter has swiftly replaced autumn, the nights suddenly a lot longer than the days, and it’s dark when you finally get out of Starbucks and start the walk home.

You don’t know why – it _definitely_ isn’t due to the couple in the coffee shop – but you take the long way home. Every day has become the same and it’s nice to have a change every once in a while. You’re too old for the clubs you used to frequent and the places that would welcome you at this age are full of couples and families and you could really do without that. So long walks in the cold night are one of the few alternatives to spending another hour in front of the television.

There’s a bridge down this way. It’s hardly surprising you’ve chosen this route of all the possible ways home, but you never intended to. You like to come here. To think. A lot has been said to the river that runs under the bridge. Some of the things you would have regretted saying were anybody there to hear you. Some of the thoughts were happy. Some, not so much…

There looks like there’s somebody else having not so happy thoughts today.

The man stood on the bridge looks so small, you think. Not just short, but thin, too. He’s shaking and you can’t tell if that’s because he’s cold or because… the jump, but that doesn’t matter.

“Wait a second!”

The man jumps- not to _jump_ jump, but in shock – and turns to face you. You drop the cup of coffee and race over when he stumbles back, grabbing his wrist before he can fall over the edge.

You help him down from where he’s stood, your own chest rising and falling so fast you’re surprised any air is going into your lungs at all. The man falls into you, still shaking and sobbing now too. His sobs are oddly quiet, you notice, but it doesn’t really seem important right now.

“Hey. Hey, it’s alright. I’ve got you.”

You don’t know if that’s helping. It’s what you would have liked to have heard when you tried to make the same jump all those years ago, though. You take off your coat and wrap the smaller man in it, pulling him into your arms as you slide to the floor.

He sits with his back against your chest and it seems like you can feel every bone in his body rubbing against you, even through the coat.

“What’s your name, love?” you ask, because it seems like the right thing to say.

The man doesn’t reply.

His breathing’s still shaky, not that you blame him, and you wish you hadn’t thrown the coffee away because he looks like he could really do with that right now.

“Where do you live? I’ll take you home?”

The man doesn’t reply.

“What’s… “ You don’t know if you should ask. You wouldn’t have appreciated it if somebody asked when you tried to end it all. But something makes you. “What’s wrong?”

The man looks up at you, looks _at_ you properly for the first time, and his eyes are the clearest shade of blue you’ve ever seen. They hold yours captive for so long you almost don’t see the scars.

The marks are faint, cutting across his throat a number of times. The meaning doesn’t click for a little while. You don’t understand what it means.

When he sees you don’t understand, he tries to stand. The tears are falling harder now, but you don’t know what to say. He’s shaking so hard that, when he tries to run, he stumbles again and you catch him.

A dark mark on his wrist catches your eye.

_Wait a second._

He’s watching you again with those eyes that are definitely too beautiful to be filled with sadness.

This can’t be happening. You can’t be _his_. You’re not anybody’s.

It clicks. You imagine it looks exactly like it did for the couple at the coffee shop, and for every other couple you’ve seen happily united.

“Can you speak?” you ask.

The man shakes his head and you laugh a little. You don’t know if you should be frightened or relieved. You’re used to being alone. You’ve learned to look after yourself and you don’t know if you can cope with somebody else, especially someone as fragile as this.

But he has your words on his wrist and you… you have his.

“I’ve been looking for you my entire life,” you say, quietly. “My name’s James, by the way.”

The man struggles out of your grip and, for a moment, you think he’s going to run again, but he stumbles towards a satchel that’s been left at the side of the road. Over his shoulder you catch a glimpse of an envelope – the letter – then he takes what he’s looking for and zips the bag shut again, pulling it onto his shoulder.

“Let me take that,” you say, quickly, because he doesn’t even look like he should be carrying himself, but the look he gives you has you rooted to the spot. There’s no arguing with that look. He hands you a small card, a business card.

“Niki,” you read, slowly. It’s not the name you’ve ever imagined, but it forms easily enough in your mouth and you smile as you say it again. “Niki. Well, Niki, I think I should take you some place warm.”


End file.
